


Crossed

by Noelleian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Bisexuality, Blackmail, Curses, Extortion, F/F, F/M, Horror, M/M, Mild Smut, Politics, Promiscuity, Sexism, Sexual Harassment, Supernatural - Freeform, Vague Mentions of D/s, Witchcraft, scandals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8276386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: Dorothy Catalonia is on top of the world. She's got money, power, influence, and prospective lovers tripping all over themselves for just one night between her designer sheets. Believing there is nothing in the world she can't have, she makes a grave mistake one evening after a mutually beneficial business dinner with the young, charismatic CEO of Winner Enterprises who also happens to be the man she once impaled on a sword. What she thought she had was the upper hand, but what she actually does have is a very long way to fall.





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! So, yeah. This happened. It was originally intended to be chapter 2 of Fragmented, but as I was writing it, it just became too long and complicated for a drabble. I want to say this will only be a few chapters, but who knows at this point lol. 
> 
> This chapter contains mildly smutty femslash/yuri, whatever you want to call it and references to (one-sided) Dorothy/Heero. 
> 
> Hope you like it! ^.^
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own GW, or its characters. Just borrowing them for the purposes of this fic.

_The Viper Strikes Again!_  
_Saucy Trillionaire Tycoon, Dorothy Catalonia Under Fire After Accountant Confesses to International Crime Ring_

Dorothy tossed the paper that Relena handed her over her shoulder with a derisive, “Pfffffft,” and went back to nursing her drink. “Like I haven’t seen the same headline every day for the last six years.” It was nothing new and quite frankly, it was getting old.

Actually, six years wasn’t quite right. She’d been facing hostility from everyone around her for as long as she could remember. Bitch, psycho, pariah, slut, whore...it was just the same old same old. The mocking whispers, jaunts, and laughs at her expense had always followed her wherever she went. Move along, nothing to see here.

They were just jealous. Jealous of her status, her confidence, her prowess, her sex appeal. She was the epitome of class, in her humble opinion. She had more money than God. Her assets were abundant, overflowing her multiple domestic and offshore bank accounts, real estate investments, and stocks and bonds. She was an international powerhouse, a tycoon with a strong influence in politics, media, and capitalism.

She not only played her cards right, she kept them close to her chest and mopped the floors with her competitors. Her adversaries were phenomenal at talking the talk, but when it came to walking the walk, they were as impotent as the shriveled little cocktail wieners they called their dicks. It was pathetic and she made a point to repeatedly and gleefully disclose the press of that pertinent information at every opportunity.

There was nothing more satisfying than standing on the grand stone steps of Sanq’s capitol, or in front of the Supreme Court in her custom-made designer pantsuit in fire engine red with matching nails and pumps sharp enough to carve a man’s heart out of his chest, surrounded by a spellbound horde of reporters, ravenous for her scathing statement.

And she never disappointed them. With a flip of her hair, a saucy wink, and sly smile of her cherry red lips, she ruthlessly castrated her rivals with a barbed, yet almost poetic remark. Blunt, pithy, and oh so effective at rendering the men within earshot dumb with shock. Then, she blew them a kiss and sashayed down the steps into her waiting limousine.

To say she’d stepped on many toes on her way up the proverbial ladder was an understatement. She not only stepped on toes, she decimated manhoods and snatched the metaphorical weave like it was second nature. She was a predator, a barracuda, a maneater and that was exactly the way she liked it.

Of course, as a powerful and influential woman, her gender was frequently targeted by bitter, repressed simpletons who weren’t intelligent enough to make a substantial argument about her merits. To be frank, what she did behind closed doors was irrelevant, but that didn’t stop those who believed she flaunted her flamboyant sexuality a little too much, or that she’d used it to her advantage in her quest to rise to the top of the food chain.

She was honest enough about herself to acknowledge that it was a weapon she shamelessly wielded along with many others in her vast arsenal. The thing was, it worked, and when something wasn’t broken, why fix it? It wasn’t only a tool for her personal gain, she simply loved sex and engaged in it whenever it tickled her fancy.

She also knew her open bisexuality was an extremely contentious issue and was often used as an attempt to destroy her reputation. Her political enemies and business rivals employed every possible tactic, using still widely held fears and prejudices against her by spreading lies and misinformation to the public about what it meant to be bisexual. She did her best to combat the stereotypes, but the fact that she was personally promiscuous didn’t help matters. She wasn’t promiscuous because she was bi, she was promiscuous because she chose to be. It was just part of her core personality. The fact that she wasn’t the type to settle down, the fact that she enjoyed a diverse and bountiful sex life had absolutely nothing to do with her orientation.

Then again, tabloids didn’t much care for accurate information, or correcting misleading articles. They were in it for the profitable business of entertainment, the juicier, the better. Scandal was a fertile and plentiful part of the human condition and ripe for exploitation. After all, who didn’t love a bloody, fiery trainwreck?

She was certainly no stranger to bloodthirst herself. While it was a necessary evil in her professional life, it was also her guilty pleasure in both professional and personal environments. She was admittedly a sexual deviant, steering clear of the mediocre world of vanilla sex in favor of encounters that would make goody-two-shoes like Vice Minister Relena Darlian fall to their knees and pray for Dorothy’s wretched soul.

“Dorothy, have I ever told you that I fear for you?” Relena asked, interrupting her internal monologue.

They were having tea at Relena’s villa after concluding a rather combative press conference intended to address allegations of a money laundering ring run by a high ESUN official who had recently stepped down from his position once the accusations began popping up in the more reputable media outlets. Oddly enough, a seedy tabloid broke the story, but such things were generally dismissed until the more vetted agencies caught wind of it. Like any rumor, all it needed was a tiny spark, the proper kindling, and careful nurturing to turn it into a blazing firestorm.

Dorothy happened to be present at the conference because an accountant for one of her corporations was involved in the ring. He’d been cooking the books and embezzling her company’s profits to nearly two dozen Swiss bank accounts. Apparently, this had been going on for quite a few years, but the activity hadn’t raised any flags because the accountant was skimming small amounts of money off the top over an extended period of time. Using this method, he remained under the radar, virtually undetectable until a supervisor accidentally came across a minor mistake. Upon further investigation, he discovered a troubling amount of unauthorized transactions that were being sent to obscurely named establishments located in and around Zurich.

Hence, the current headlines making the rounds in the media.

Dorothy herself opted to forgo the tea in lieu of a mimosa. She studiously ignored Relena’s scowl and elegantly draped herself over the chair across from the Vice Foreign Minister.

“You know, I was saving that champagne for my anniversary,” Relena informed her.

Dorothy snorted and stuck a plastic stirrer into her drink. “As if you don’t have an entire cellar stocked with an absurd amount of expensive wines and champagnes.”

“That’s not the point. And you’re one to talk.”

“Oh, lighten up, Ms. Darlian. Like your husband-to-be would even care what you serve him for your anniversary. You could pour gasoline into a champagne flute and he’d drink it down without batting an eye. That man wouldn’t know class if it tattooed itself onto his ass.”

“Also not the point.”

“If you say so.” She lifted the tumbler to her lips and took a dainty sip, pausing and then pulling it away, staring at it with a horrified expression. “What the hell is this?”

“What?”

Dorothy glanced across the table, staring at Relena as though she was about to accuse the woman of poisoning her. “This isn’t champagne. It’s sparkling wine!”

“It is not.”

“It is!” She swiped the bottle off the table and examined the label on the side. “It says Moët Réserve Impériale, but it’s not.”

“Of course it is. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Excuse me. I know my wines and champagnes. Don’t insult my intelligence.” She looked back down at the bottle, noticing something slightly off about it. “Wait a minute…”

“Dorothy, just let it go and enjoy your mimosa.”

She ran her finger down the edge of the label, feeling the nearly imperceptible wrinkles in the paper. Moët and Chandon’s labels did not have wrinkles. Her eyes narrowed, glancing up at her companion with a steely gaze. “You sneaky bitch.”

Relena shifted uncomfortably. One might think she did so because Dorothy had just called her a bitch. Dorothy knew better. She’d known Relena for years and it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d called her a bitch. It was the telltale sign that Relena had been caught doing something deceitful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t appreciate your language,” she sniffed.

Dorothy glared, closely observing the faint flush of red blooming across the Vice Foreign Minister’s cheeks. “Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing!” Relena exclaimed, a little too emphatically.

She scoffed and leaned back in her chair, crossing one stocking encased leg over the other. “You know, for a politician, you can’t lie worth a shit.”

“Says the woman who lives off of such things along with a steady diet of booze. You lie like other people breathe.”

She grinned. “Why, Relena. When did you become so blunt? I do believe young Mr. Yuy has been a terrible influence on you.”

Relena scowled and grabbed the tea kettle, pouring herself another cuppa. “I believe in truth, honesty, and transparency, especially in government.”

Dorothy waved her hand. “Oh, spare me the campaign speech. You already auditioned for the part and got it. You’re the next Mother Theresa. Duly noted.”

Relena shook her head and dropped a sugar cube into her tea, stirring it with a tiny silver spoon. “What do you have against Heero anyway?”

“Nothing. I just think he’s an anti-social psychopath.”

“Takes one to know one.”

She tipped her drink at her companion, uncurling her index finger from the glass and pointing it accusingly. “Hey, I am not anti-social.” Shrugging, she added, “Psychopath is debatable. I prefer the term “criminally insane”.”

Relena shot her a sly grin. “So you _are_ a crook.”

“If I am, you’ll never know it,” she said and then finished off her drink, glaring at the offending glass when she pulled it away. “I can’t believe you switched the labels.”

“Yet, you’re still drinking it.”

“It gets the job done.”

“But seriously, what do you have against Heero? He’s a wonderful man.”

“I’m sure he is. Wonderful men are not my type, though.”

“So what is your type?”

“My type is anyone I can bend to my will.”

“Ah,” Relena nodded and lifted her teacup. “That explains a lot.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Her eyes were sharp over the rim of her cup. “Like you don’t know.”

“Don’t be cryptic, Peacecraft. Mystery doesn’t suit you.”

She glared at Dorothy’s use of her birth name, setting the teacup down onto the saucer with a loud clink. “As if you never considered the fact that Heero would tell me that you came onto him. More than once and rather aggressively, I might add.”

Dorothy clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and poured more champ - _sparkling wine_ into her glass, adding a splash of orange juice and three ice cubes. “Snitch.”

Relena snorted and sipped her tea. “Did you honestly think he would never tell me? We are engaged to be married in June.”

“Who the hell gets married in June anyway?”

Relena’s expression was visibly exasperated. “When am I supposed to get married then, oh Madame Expert who has never been married, or ever plans to be?”

Dorothy answered without missing a beat. “January.”

“Why January?”

“It’s the coldest, bleakest, most desolate month of the year. It’s the perfect time to celebrate the death of freedom.”

“Must you be so macabre?”

“Yes. It’s why you keep me around. I’m your daily dose of reality. Your prescription to keep your delusions in check, but without the weight gain.”

“Are you serious?”

She covered her grin behind her glass. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Anyway, I’m not “celebrating the death of my freedom”, Dorothy. I’m eagerly joining into a union of matrimony with the man I love and want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Studies show that marriage shortens women’s lives.”

Relena scoffed and patted the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Did you read that in one of your feminist articles?” She glanced away when Dorothy shot her a sharkish smile. “You still haven’t addressed what I said.”

“Which is what?”

“You want a “dose of reality”? I have one,” Relena said, leaning over the table and pointing a french manicured finger at Dorothy. “You claim Heero is not your type. I think he is, or at least was. But he turned you down. And as someone who has known you for years, I know you don’t take rejection well, but you hide it behind a mask of indifference, pretending you don’t care. But you do care.” She pulled her napkin off her lap and placed it onto the embroidered table runner. “You care and it infuriates you when anyone, man, or woman tells you no.”

Dorothy’s hackles rose at the cruel, but painfully accurate observation of her character. Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together in an attempt not to lose her composure. If she did, she would be incriminating herself and that was something she refused to do.

But despite her valiant effort to show no outward signs that Relena had gotten to her, the woman still managed to catch the slight tensing of her body, the widening and then narrowing of her eyes. Knowing she hit a nerve, she smiled, suddenly cheerful and Dorothy wanted to smack it right off her face. She folded her hands on top of the table and Dorothy’s gaze was drawn to a flash as the diamond in her engagement ring caught the rays of sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. She glared balefully at the sparkling three carat gem as if it were the cause of all her problems.

“And my fiance was not the only one who rejected you,” Relena pointed out, adding fuel to the flames of Dorothy’s resentment and suppressed bitterness.

She flinched at the reminder, her traitorous mind digging up the memories of a hazy August night when, drunk and excited, she tried to seduce the woman across from her. They’d attended a black tie event together at the ballroom of the Ritz Carlton in Paris. They’d both had too much champagne and not enough to eat and Relena had looked so breathtaking in her sleek, blue sequined gown. Her long hair was piled atop her head, exposing the delicate column of her porcelain neck. Despite her best efforts, Dorothy found herself becoming aroused and swiped one glass of Dom Perignon after another off of the silver trays held by white gloved Maître D’s.

They were both equally tipsy, flushed with drink and enjoyment by the time they made their way up to their rooms, stumbling on wobbly heels and trying to hide their bubbly laughter behind their clutches. Relena invited Dorothy into her suite for a nightcap and they lounged on the sofa in the sitting room, still clad in their gowns though their shoes had been discarded at the door. They munched on cocktail peanuts and sipped martinis, giggling at cheesy romcoms with their panty hosed feet on top of the coffee table.

Dorothy still wasn’t sure how it happened, or what instigated it, though she suspected that she simply gave into her impulses when Relena turned to face her, smiling drunkenly with her makeup smeared across her face. A moment later, they were kissing. Dorothy could still hear the soft sigh Relena emitted when she swiped her tongue into the other woman’s mouth.

She remembered kissing along her cheek and down to her jaw and she remembered the way Relena tilted her head to give her access to her neck. The same neck Dorothy had been ogling all night and was dying to taste. She attached her mouth to the silky skin and suckled gently as her hands skimmed down Relena’s arms, intent on learning every curve, contour, every nook and cranny, every sweet spot and erogenous zone. She cupped Relena’s breasts, first over the gown and then sliding beneath the strapless bodice, loving the sensual feel of them in her hands.

Relena’s head was tipped back, encouraging her to continue with soft whispers and mewls. Burning with arousal, Dorothy pulled down the front of her gown, exposing small, but perky breasts, the tiny pink nipples beckoning her to wrap her lips around them. She held them firmly, her fingers digging into supple flesh, and sucked each nipple into a swollen point, relishing the sound of Relena’s panting breaths.

She was nearly beyond the point of no return by the time she lifted the sheathed skirt of Relena’s gown and parted trembling thighs. She nipped and kissed the most sensitive inner parts, working her way up to the prize in between. It was impossible to contain her own vocalizations when she reached her goal and pulled the glistening lips of the girl’s pussy into her mouth, finally getting a proper taste of her lover. Relena shouted and tangled shaking fingers into Dorothy’s blonde hair, pushing her pelvis forward for more of the delirious stimulation.

Everything was going beautifully until the moment Dorothy slid a finger into her. Relena gasped and blurted out a panicked sounding, “No!” She shoved Dorothy away who reared back in surprise and sat up, rearranging her gown back over herself. “No,” she said, more gently, though Dorothy could hear the tremor in her voice. “We can’t do this.”

She tried her best to contain her outrage, trying in vain to ignore the persistent throbbing between her own legs. “Why not?”

Relena seemed closed off now, refusing to look at her as she adjusted the bodice of her gown to make sure her breasts were covered. “It’s not right.”

The hell it wasn’t. “What do you mean “it’s not right”? What’s wrong with it?”

Relena clicked off the television and stood up, turning away towards the adjoining bedroom. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

Horny and pissed that she was being denied her pleasure, she got up and rounded the couch, following the other woman towards the bedroom, but didn’t go inside. Instead, she watched from the doorway with her hands on her hips as Relena turned down her bed. “What’s the problem here?”

“There’s no problem, Dorothy. We just can’t do this.”

“No, you _think_ you can’t do this. I _can_ do this.” She stepped into the bedroom, but stayed near the door. “I can make you feel so good, if you’ll let me. There was nothing wrong with what we were doing.”

“There was.”

Now she was insulted, under the assumption that Relena was having misgivings because they were both female. “What, are you homophobic now?”

“What?” Stunned, Relena turned around, staring at her in shock.

“You have a problem with two women doing the dirty?”

Relena’s face turned bright red, her expression contorting into a mix of incredulity, disgust, and what Dorothy interpreted as guilt. “Do you have to use the word “dirty”?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. _Making love_. Is that better? Why don’t you just answer the question?”

“No, it’s not - I don’t -” Relena blew out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “It’s not you and it’s not because you’re a girl, okay? Can we leave it at that?”

“No, we can’t leave it at that. You led me on. Tell me why. I deserve to know.”

“Dorothy, please. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Demand an explanation? You owe me that much.”

“Why are you pressing this?”

“Why? Because I want to eat your fucking pussy, that’s why! I want to eat it until you -”

“Stop it, Dorothy!”

“- scream. I want to fuck you until you come all over yourself and then I want to do it all over again and then I want you to do the same thing to me.”

“Get out!”

“I’m not going anywhere, you fucking tease. You think you can play with people like this?” She let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Oh, you’re a real piece of work, you know that? You lead people around by the nose, acting all prim and proper until you get them behind closed doors. You make them think they have a chance with you until they start sucking on your tits and then you want to play little miss good girl who doesn’t do stuff like that. Well, I’ve got news for you, bitch. If you think you can -”

“Heero’s back.”

“- just walk all over - what?”

Relena stared down at the carpeting, looking forlorn and embarrassed. “I said, Heero’s back.”

Dorothy waved her arms around, waiting for her to continue until that tidbit of information explained the current situation. “ _And?_ ”

“And...he asked me to marry him.”

Her mouth closed with an audible click as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Ah, of course. Now it all made sense. “And?” She pressed, needing to hear the confirmation straight from the horse’s mouth.

“And I said yes.”

Of course she did. “I see.”

“I’m so sorry, Dorothy. That’s why I couldn’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, too. Sorry to see that nothing has changed. Sorry to see that you’ll still welcome Mr. Wishy Washy with open arms every time he comes crawling back after disappearing to God knows where.”

“Don’t do this, please.”

Dorothy huffed and turned away, walking towards the door. At the threshold, she looked back over her shoulder. “I’m not doing anything. I’m simply telling it like it is. But you’d much rather bury your head in the fucking sand than admit that that man is never going to love you the way you love him.”

“Don’t say that!”

Relena’s face was heartbreakingly despondent, but Dorothy didn’t have much room in her heart for sympathy. She was the one whose shoulder Relena leaned on every time Heero took off without a word and she was the one who was dismissed without a second thought every time he came back, mumbling apologies and promises he would never keep.

She chewed on her lip as she observed the desperate way Relena stared back. Like she was begging Dorothy to understand, to not be so cruel, to be happy for her. She shook her head and said, “You really need to stop being so goddamned gullible, Relena. You’re twenty four years old. It’s time to grow up and face reality. He’s going to hurt you again. He always does. Stop being a fucking doormat and grow a pair. You’re the Vice Foreign Minister. Act like it and quit pretending like life is some shitty fairy tale where the princess always gets her happily ever after with Prince Charming. There is no happily ever after. Not for you, me, or anyone else. You’re not fucking special.”

She couldn’t help but feel slightly vindicated by the crushed look on Relena’s face. Good. Maybe she’d finally get her head out of the clouds and stop entertaining silly romantic notions about a man who not only constantly ran out on her, but had also threatened to take her life on more than one occasion.

“If you take nothing else from this, Relena, remember that I have never, not even once, threatened to kill you.”

She looked away, staring blankly at the closed drapes on the other side of the room. “That was different.”

Dorothy snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“It’s different now. He’s changed. We’re going to get married. I...would like it if you could be happy for me.”

Dorothy shot her a frigid glare and hissed, “Don’t hold your breath,” before turning and leaving the room, making sure to slam the door closed behind her. Not the most adult thing to do, but fuck it. She climbed into her own bed in the suite down the hall, naked, and basked in the cool comfort of clean sheets against her skin. Her arousal had been doused by the new development, but she quickly fingered herself towards an orgasm anyway. If nothing else, it was good for stress relief.

 

***

 

Now, she looked across the small round table situated in the parlor of Relena’s villa, observing the way the other woman watched her expectantly with her arms folded over her chest. Four years later, she looked much the same though only half of her hair was clipped back and instead of the slinky evening gown, she wore a conservative pantsuit in pale green.

Dorothy still mourned that night, still dreamed about it. In some, Relena had never told her no and they wound up making love to each other until the sun broke the horizon. In others, Relena not only told her no, but she did so with Heero standing at her back holding a gun to her head. They were both haunting in their own ways, but the end result was still the same. It was never meant to be.

And Relena had been right. It seemed Heero had changed. Since their engagement, he hadn’t disappeared on her once. He was doting, attentive, in essence, as Relena said, a wonderful man. It took two years for her and Relena to rekindle their friendship after that night and it was still not without some lingering trepidation at times.

They were the only ones who’d ever denied her the pleasure of getting to know their bodies. It wasn’t something she was planning on making a habit of. She’d handled Heero’s and Relena’s rejections quite well considering how infuriated she’d been. The next person might not be so lucky.

She grinned widely and tipped back the rest of her third mimosa. “Well,” she chirped. “Can’t knock a girl for trying.”


End file.
